Going Down

You will forgive my absence.

With that weight off your shoulders; a recap of what it is I am, a student, nay, THE student of the medicinal arts in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia; going about his final clinical years, taking up extra credit and experience at a poorly equipped, yet utterly charming hospital that can nay be named, in case your father treats and/or is being treated there.

I will now address issues though mandatory, are of little to no importance, briefly:

The Jeddah floods, the revolutionary cascade, and the Japanese earthen sundering; good times, though rather than point fingers and bellow the rallying cry of unity and the world beyond, as masses before me have; I will instead show you a picture of a mink.

People still wear these, where is your Obama now?

As my shift of the pediatric circuit came to an exhausting close one night, I gathered my things and began making my way towards the exit, the air ripe with the humid smell of cleaning fluid and a cocktail of stereotypical ethnic aromas not unfamiliar to our good house of healing.

Upon reaching the narrow hallway leading to the exit; the emergency room to my left, I raise my hand and force a smile at the military trained, huskily built general surgeon holding the ER fort at the time, he nods in response, I move on, the promise of a soft pillow and cold sheets driving me forward, I push the doors open and am startled by a pickup truck that comes to a screeching halt in front of me, much like a clown car, almost double the intended load of passengers exit and begin circling the vehicle to the back, unlocking the pickup fence and pulling out an apparently unconscious man.

Yelling in Urdu, they rush passed me and took a sharp right into the ER and disappear from view, I struggle with myself for a minute as to whether or not I should investigate, my curiosity quickly getting the better of me, I head back in, and, just as I'm about to turn into the ER, I notice an individual standing at the end of the hall, staring at me.

A man with features of textbook Downs Syndrome (Who, for the sake of abbreviation from here on out, we shall name Donald Down), an estimated 21, maybe 23 years of age, Donald looked as though he had not shaved in some time, wearing thick, rectangular glass, a beige polo shirt, khaki pants, and slippers, stared intently at me; I thought little of it at the time as I entered the ER.

Long story short, the patient was required shifting to the intensive care unit; as we wheeled him to the elevator, I notice Don Down, again, staring at me, standing in exactly the same spot, again, I broke my gaze and focused on the task at hand, as we entered the elevator and the doors began to close, who so casually walks in and joins myself, the unconscious patient on a stretcher and the general surgeon, but Don Down, the doors come to a screechy close behind him as again, he burns his eyes into mine.

The doors open and we push the stretcher, taking a sharp left towards the ICU, as we enter, Don Down slowly followed as though he himself intended to enter, but had been shunned by the surgeon who sternly told him to GTFO.

Skipping the finer details of events within the ICU, after the patient had been stabilized and all was well, I once again, began making my way to the exit, to get to the elevator, I had to cross the nurses station, where the late shift nurses had just taken roost and began going about their business, I walk passed the nurses and come to a halt, again and for the final time, at the end of the long hallway leading towards the elevator, is Don Down.

I stop at this point, not really expecting anything so much as attempting to assess the situation, though he didn't give me much time to do this as he slowly began breaking into a trot towards me, I hold my ground as he begins to pick up speed; from the corner of my eye I notice the nurses have also become aware of my special stalker.

He gets ever closer and I stand ever stiller.

Then he spoke,

Running full speed now, he points at me and yells "Inta hatikhsar!", which is Arabic for "You're going down, Charlie Brown", to which I could only yell back, arms outstretched, "No!"

At this point it's too late to do anything, he bends forward, arms firmly at his sides, his shoulders on a collision course with my sternum, it wasn't long after that that he made impact, yelling "Inta hatikhsar!" one more time before our bodies clashed, feeling all the air rush out of my lungs, I was lifted off my feet, making air time long enough to see that Don had followed through and ran passed further down the hall after tackling me aside; my landing was anything but smooth as I hit the ground spinefirst, my head bouncing off the ground, pain taking such a backseat to confusion that I scarcely felt a thing, I scramble to my feet as I see Don Down surrounded by nurses holding him back, he didn't seem to mind, as though he had accomplished what it is he came here to do, I get to my feet, keeping my cool, maintaining my cool, calm and collected attitude, reacting only with the utmost maturity as any...

"INTA HATIKHSAR!" I yelled back at him, backing off, "INTA HATIKHSAR!"